Stone of Immortality
by Arachne's Quill
Summary: AU. Dumbledore heads to the Potters' house the night Voldemort was defeated and delivers Harry to his aunt and uncle that night, rather than the following day. He speaks to them in person, causing them to raise him differently. How will this all impact Harry's first year at Hogwarts?
1. Prologue - The Boy Who Lived

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

_Prologue: The Boy Who Lived_

* * *

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. Mrs. Petunia Dursley was blonde, very tall, and very thin, and her bony face looked perpetually dissatisfied and apprehensive. Her beloved husband, whom she loved for his utter devotion to their family and his financial aptitude, was relatively well-known as the successful director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. As director, of course, Mr. Vernon Dursley did not make drills. He organized company meetings, hosted events, and approved or rejected different marketing ideas. As such, he brought home sizable earnings, and he and Petunia lived comfortably in a large house with their beloved son, Dudley. Petunia stayed at home to care for their darling son, all the while weeding through the latest gossip from across the fence.

Privet Drive was by no means a spotlight of wealth; what it lacked in lavish gardens and chandeliers and stained-glass windows it made up for in its pristine efficiency. The uniform houses were all immaculate, organized, and inhabited by kind, orderly people. Though the colors were a bit dull, everyone who lived there lived the sort of simplistic pedestrian routine that made the world a better place.

At the moment, however, Petunia was sitting outside her door, dressed like a nun and smiling awkwardly down at the neighbor's son. He had come up to her with a sheet draped crudely over his head, poor child. She handed him a peach biscuit and sent him off with a pat on the head back to his aunt and uncle, who were dressed like Elizabeth I and Winston Churchill respectively. This holiday wouldn't be half as bad if the majority of the neighbors could stick to such respectable costumes instead of the fanciful attire they usually flaunted. She supposed it was only fair that they have an opportunity just once a year to unleash their imaginations without being judged, and in her youth Petunia would have agreed. However, as she'd grown up hearing her sister's tales of fancy, she'd gained the suspicion that not all of the costumes were entirely fake.

For instance, that one man who'd passed with his "princess" daughter had had suspiciously realistic pointed ears. And that one teenage couple's togas fit them way too familiarly for a costume. And what on earth was this man wearing? It looked like no sort of costume Petunia had ever seen, though she didn't know if it was the silvery hair flowing beneath his pointed wizard's hat that threw her off or that horrendous clash of fuschia with maroon...

The man turned and looked at her, then started walking over with his... grandson? Great-grandson? Her attention was focused not on the child in the cat ears, but on his elderly chaperone... Yes, it was definitely the hair that was the issue.

* * *

"Come along, Acair," called Albus Dumbledore to his great-grandnephew, whose long auburn hair fell in disarray as he leapt in great bounds across the sidewalk behind him. At Acair's side trotted a tabby cat who frequently stopped to affix either of her two companions with a quelling gaze. Behind the tabby crept a shyer cat, whose glistening white fur made her stand out from the concrete sidewalk. Acair had been trick-or-treating already this evening, but he insisted on adding to his already plentiful conquest of sweets. Albus donated a rather large handful of lemon drops to every trick-or-treater he passed.

And so it was that Albus Dumbledore stopped before the front door of Petunia Dursley. With all the charisma gained in his one hundred and fifty or so years, he approached.

"You are Petunia Dursley, I gather? It is a pleasure to meet you at last."

At the mention of her name, Petunia's face tightened, but whether in anger or fear Albus could not be certain. "How did you find me? What is it you people want?"

"I bring some rather urgent and upsetting news, and a request," Albus intoned gravely. The severity of the situation was not lost on Petunia, and she motioned him to continue speaking. "It would be best if we discussed this in a safer location, with your husband present."

"Are you daft?! What will the neighbors think?"

"They will think that I am an old friend or family member coming to pay his holiday regards, especially as I will be visiting in the future. As for my unusual state of dress, well, suffice it to say that it is Halloween, and therefore of no concern to any of the neighbors."

* * *

20 minutes later saw Vernon comforting his wife, who still sat sobbing over the news that her sister had been murdered just two hours past. Minerva McGonagall had the grace to assume her human form for their discussion, and even though she had been among the first to deal with the debris, she could not hold back a few tears that had not been used up earlier in the night. She dabbed at her eyes with an emerald green handkerchief.

When Petunia regained enough control to string together a coherent sentence, she immediately flung at Albus a venomous accusation, "This is all your fault! If Lily had just been- been normal, none of this would have happened! I could have been celebrating a holiday with my family right now, if not for you lot!" Albus merely looked lost in thought and sorrow at her words, leaving McGonagall to come up with a rebuke.

"Do you remember the last school you and Lily attended together? Have you paid attention to the local news lately? The recent explosion there claimed the lives of dozens of innocent, "normal" children, whose parents will never again welcome them home. Surely you can see that "our lot" were not the only ones at risk."

"It was a gas leak," Petunia denied quickly and shallowly. How she believed such a thing when surely Lily had been warning her of the war was beyond Minerva. She chalked it up to denial and refusal to see things rationally- Minerva McGonagall loathed irrationality- and thus gave Petunia a very hard, very flat stare.

Vernon came to his wife's rescue, distracting them from the staring contest by complaining, "There've been too many gas leaks lately, it's unnatural! I've talked to all of my department heads about the dangers of gas and the importance of proper regulation, but will the public ever learn? Honestly, with the recent explosion of gas leaks - pun not intended - I've been investing money in protests against gas fuel. It's putting us all at risk!"

Petunia, who had been staring at her hands during the tirade, shakily met Minerva's eyes and nodded. She swallowed once, then laid a hand on Vernon's arm. "Vernon... Those weren't gas leaks. They were killing sprees conveniently disguised as gas leaks. We're all in danger, and no amount of regulation can protect us." Petunia's voice was laced with hysteria. "We'd be best off leaving the country and finding a new place to live. Those were mass murders, children died for no reason- oh, just wait until the gardening club hears about this..."

Albus still sat considering his words, leaving the rest of the party sitting in an awkward silence that was only occasionally interspersed with the noises from the television in the adjacent room, where Petunia had set Acair with a bowl of popcorn. Minerva cleared her throat, and Albus moved to speak.

"I would advise against leaving the country. Petunia, when your sister died to protect her son, she truly managed to protect him against everything Voldemort had. Though her son was orphaned, her murderer- the leader of the terrorist forces- has been destroyed. I estimate that the rest of his forces will be rounded up within the week, their morale shattered. Should you choose to accept custody of your nephew, you would qualify for warding of your home. Lily's protection should carry over to you should you take him in, and even the most vengeful Death Eater would be unable to bring you harm. I would also mention that you would be quite well compensated for any expenses the care of another child would burden upon you."

"We don't want to raise any of your lot. We don't want the house burning down or the neighbors inquiring about odd behaviors."

"I can attempt to seal his magical abilities until he reaches age 11. Accidental magic outbursts can still occur if he feels threatened, but if you care for him this should not be as large of an issue to you, and can even benefit you."

Petunia and Vernon looked at each other for a long moment. Acair yawned loudly in the other room, punctuating the awkward silence.

"I also hear that adopting orphans is a great way to boost your reputation."

"...Deal."

With that settled, Albus withdrew a large, sleeping bundle from his robes. Minerva looked at him incredulously, hoping he had been responsible enough to place warming, airflow, and extension charms.

"Do not tell him of his feats in vanquishing Voldemort and ending the war. Tell him only that his parents were brave, and they died in war to protect their nation. However, he must grow up without entering the magical world. It would be foolish to introduce a young child to immense fame."

Petunia nodded.

Dumbledore handed her the sleeping Harry and tapped his wand to the boy's scar, causing it to relax a bit into his skin. "I have sealed his magic. He will be as normal as we can make him until his eleventh birthday. You must take care of him or the spell will wear off, and I will be summoned. I will not hesitate to investigate, in broad daylight if I must. For the sake of your image, I will conduct my annual meetings on Halloween, the one night where I, ah, blend in with the rest of the world."

Petunia nodded again. Minerva assumed her feline form again, causing a strangled gasp from Vernon. Acair thanked Petunia for her hospitality, and Minerva could see Petunia genuinely smile. Curious, that her obsession with her image wasn't merely a mask. Perhaps it reflected an internal struggle for goodness? Minerva led Acair to the entryway and looked around for the white cat, finding it had not moved from where it had curled up beside the door. The door opened and Acair led them out.

* * *

"...That child. Is he your grandson?" Petunia asked Dumbledore, watching Acair walk around meowing to the two cats. It was a clever costume- nobody would suspect anything about two cats being led out on a walk on Halloween if they were accompanied by a child dressed as a cat.

"No. I have never married. He is my great-grandnephew- my brother's great-grandson. He is nonmagical, and also an orphan."

"He lives with you, then?"

"He stays at times with Arabella Figg, a kind nonmagical widow who lives on Wisteria Walk, not far from here. Other times he is cared for by Emmeline Vance, a good friend of his mother. When school is out for the summer, I suspect he will spend a great deal of time with me."

"...I'd be delighted to have him visit sometime, he's such a charming boy."

"I believe that can be arranged. I can have Mrs. Figg come by next week and speak with you. I wish you the best."

Petunia managed to smile, though inside she was so... tired. Emotionally exhausted from the news of the night. The constant worry about her nephew and her son did nothing to quell the uneasiness. No, what Petunia needed most was a long night of sleep.

* * *

"Oh! Albus, what a surprise! What brings you here?"

Arabella Figg peered up at Albus curiously, her grey hair swirling around her head in the night breeze. She stepped half-outside before noticing that he was not alone, then hastily bid him inside. The faint aroma of her cabbage perfume reached Minerva's feline nose, and she shook her head as she entered.

"The war is over, Arabella. Lily and James Potter died protecting their son Harry, and Alice and Frank Longbottom were tortured into insanity for information, though their son Neville is unharmed. Let us hope they are the last casualties of the war."

Arabella's hands flew to her mouth. "Those poor dears! All alone in the world, and at such a young age! At least they have each other for support..." She trailed off, muttering about how it was such a tragedy.

Minerva pounced forward, shifting back into her human form, her mouth a thin line. "Don't be ludicrous. They are being raised by family. Separately," she added when Arabella opened her mouth to ask, most likely, if the boys would be raised by the same family member.

"...I see. Well then. Let me go put Acair to bed - will he be staying for two weeks, Albus? - then we can discuss the state of the war more deeply. Is that a new cat I see, Minerva?"

"Yes, this is Khione, also known as Snowy. She belonged to the Potters, and slept through most of the attack on their house."

"Well, hello Snowy," Arabella greeted her with a treat. Khione meowed appreciatively, prompting three other cats to stick their heads out of the dark. Khione leapt forward curiously, sending them scattering. Arabella chuckled. Acair yawned.

* * *

Settling Acair in the guest bedroom took only a few minutes. Tufty, an enormous brown cat who seemed to be 90% fur, was worming his way underneath his pillow. Acair yawned again, closing his eyes. He didn't understand the war that Uncle Albus was so upset about. He just knew it had bothered his parents too, and his grandparents. His parents hadn't been magical, which made staying with Uncle Albus more fun, but... Acair missed his parents. He felt so small and afraid...

Tufty drowned out his fears with a peaceful, relaxing purring. Acair snuggled up inside his blanket and was soon asleep.

* * *

Remus Lupin sat alone at a small table in a dimly lit, rather shabbily built room. Dumbledore had left an hour ago, after telling him with great sorrow that Lily and James were no more. Remus hadn't wanted to believe him, but the absence of the twinkle in his eye was proof that there had been a very serious tragedy. Remus took another sip of firewhiskey.

How could this have happened? Sirius... Sirius had been the very last person Remus would have suspected could be a traitor. Yes, his family had been Dark, but Sirius had been disowned for rebellion against their ideas. Or was that just a ploy?

Dumbledore had offered to leave Harry with him, but Remus had refused. He was too dangerous, too uncontrollable. He couldn't be sure Harry would be safe on full moons, and Remus didn't even have a steady source of income, thanks to the restrictions set by the Ministry. Speaking of which, if the Ministry ever found out that a werewolf was raising a child... he'd be lucky to avoid Azkaban.

Dumbledore had used his floo to get to the Longbottom house, likely to deliver the same bad news. He'd returned minutes later, with the news that Alice and Frank were as good as dead, to live the rest of their lives in St. Mungo's. Dimly, Remus wondered what would become of Peter Pettigrew, his last friend still alive and well... He took another sip of firewhiskey.


	2. Prologue II - Beginnings

**I do not own Harry Potter. **

_Prologue II: Beginnings _

* * *

In the years that followed Harry's adoption by the Dursleys, Petunia dug out her old photo collections of Lily. One photograph she framed and placed on the wall of Harry's bedroom. It hurt to be reminded of her lost sibling, however, and she would avoid the room in the following years.

Despite this issue, Petunia did allow herself to open up to the magical world. As sister to a witch, she had a status somewhat below that of a Squib, which she had learned Mrs. Figg was. She could see the sign at the Leaky Cauldron, for instance, and most muggle-repelling charms had a markedly weaker effect on her. This she learned after Dumbledore invited her to visit Hogwarts over the summer. Petunia was at first offended that he would invite her now when he had rejected her in her youth; however, she soon learned that during summers there was a community there of adult muggles and squibs who had relatives - usually children - who were to attend Hogwarts in coming years. Petunia enjoyed several discussions with the teachers (very few of whom were as settled in their homes as they were in the school) about her sister's years at Hogwarts. There was so much about Lily Petunia had not been able to see growing up. Professors Flitwick and Slughorn were especially vocal in telling of Lily's great aptitude in their subjects. Petunia didn't visit during the following years, but she kept in touch with Slughorn.

Vernon took some time to adjust to the whole new world of magic. He had heard very little about it, and none of it positive, prior to that fateful Halloween night. What little he now was forced to see continuously appalled him, and he tried to avoid it as much as possible.

"They don't even have digital clocks! Their houses are disorganized and crude! How they can live in such a middle-aged society is beyond me! If they're led by a minister they might as well act like it and shape up. Why, I can spot at least six gaping flaws in their economy already, and I haven't even stepped foot inside their bank."

Being the curious man that he was, constantly driven to investigate other people's business, one day he did just that. He went with Dumbledore on a routine inspection of Harry's trust vault, and returned speechless and rather pale. Unable to formulate a coherent sentence, he finally told Petunia that he approved of at least their financial organization, and Petunia later caught him looking over their homeowner records speculatively.

Dumbledore did indeed spend several of his holidays visiting with the family. Acair was adopted by Emmeline Vance a few years later, and she regularly took him to visit the Dursleys at Christmas. Petunia had grown rather fond of him over the years, and was always delighted to see him. He visited Little Whinging several times a year; whether he stayed with Mrs. Figg or in the Dursleys' guest bedroom was almost completely up to chance. As Harry and Dudley grew up, they continually looked forward to seeing him, treating him almost like a cousin.

* * *

Potions Master Severus Snape sat in the dark room beneath Spinner's End, which he had converted into a potions laboratory. Several cauldrons were set up across the far wall, and he was brewing eight different complicated potions simultaneously. Furthermore, each one had been modified from the recipe for maximum effectiveness, in the same way that had brought wonder to the faces of his examiners for his Mastery several years ago. There had been only one other student in his year as capable as he. Lily Potter had aspired to be a Healer, specializing in antidotes and discovery of new potions for treatment.

Thinking of Lily was painful. He dismissed the memory of her from his mind. He'd started learning how to clear his feelings in his youth, when his father had been unwilling to support him. His mother had bid him to stay strong for her, and so he did. At Hogwarts, he was frequently bullied by the other Slytherins in his year for being a half-blood, but he had paid them no more mind, simply taking to avoiding the common room. His aptitude in the darker magics had led to a great deal of positive attention in his house, and anyone who continues disparaging his parentage would meet his formidable wand skills. He'd been taken in by those who planned to become Death Eaters, and the era of his bullying was passed. ...Until, at least, James Potter had taken note of his crowd. The two had never gotten along, but their rivalry wasn't characterized by true hatred. Potter would prank him in ways that didn't bother him, and Severus would retaliate by foiling his other pranks. They played off each other, each trying to prove superiority over the other. Until Severus joined the darker groups. Then Potter had changed, become quite ruthless in his pranks, which were no longer benign. Severus' life had been at stake once, a moment he'd never forget. Through it all, he'd had to learn to not be moved. No matter where he was in life, people would insist on bullying him down. When he'd finally been introduced to Occlumency, he'd discovered that he'd already mastered it over the years. He kept all his problems locked up, never to be faced, never to be healed.

Shrugging off his contemplation of the past, he returned to stirring the cauldron eight stirs clockwise over two minutes. He contemplated instead the new request he'd received from Dumbledore. The accommodations at Hogwarts would be comfortable, he was certain. Much better than Spinner's End. Even if the pay was lousy, he could still market his potions quite effectively, and he'd have access to fresh potion ingredients, thanks to Sprout's greenhouses and Hagrid's creatures in the Forest. On the other hand, was he really cut out to teach? While a N.E.W.T. level class would be a delight to work with, as only they would truly understand the finesse and care required to draw out the desired potion effects, the early years would be a plague of clumsy, misguided idiots. He sighed.

At least he could be somewhat certain that there would be a few intelligent students, who would hopefully make up for the incompetent dunderheads he remembered most vividly from his years as a student.

* * *

Harry was never as spoiled as Dudley; however, both of the boys were raised in a more or less firm but nurturing environment. If Petunia and Vernon were a bit firmer with Harry and a tad more nurturing toward Dudley, it was hardly an issue. Dudley made lots of friends, and they frequently hung out at the playground at the end of the street. Harry preferred to stay in his room and read - Petunia had given him a large bookshelf with all of the "classics," which absorbed a large portion of Harry's time. He was also interested in the mannerisms of Vernon's business meetings and company structure, though he didn't really care for the economics of the system. In fact, Harry helped his uncle with a dilemma at the age of seven: unsure whom to promote to the new department position, Vernon had been creeping toward the department deadline without success, when Harry suggested he promote the one who'd be working for him longer and needed the paycheck more, then make the other one the assistant of the former's former superior.

Still, a bit overwhelmed by the relative wealth of his aunt and uncle, Harry grew incredibly fond of the smaller and more humble home of Mrs. Figg, who told him she had known his parents. Mrs. Figg owned four cats: Tufty, who was more or less a large pile of fluffy brown fur; Mr. Tibbles, a very curious black cat with a white spot on his back; Mr. Paws, a calico cat with fully black paws who spent at most an hour a day awake; and Snowy, a shy but energetic white cat who seemed especially fond of Harry. Sometimes a fifth cat, an unusually stern-looking tabby, could be seen sitting almost haughtily on one of the chairs, but Mrs. Figg could never give a name to it, and she was always quite amused to find it sitting there.

As Mrs. Figg was a squib, she frequently referenced the magical world, though she always painted it as some alien world just around the corner. Sometimes an actual witch, Mrs. Vance, would suddenly appear from her fireplace, proving quite a surprise for Harry. She would tell him fanciful tales of mundane magical life; its similarities to his own life often ignited a curiosity within him, but Aunt Petunia told him each time that he was not to venture into Wizarding Britain until he was older. This grated on Harry to no end, and he was seriously contemplating running off to go see what the magical world contained. He never carried his plans through, fortunately.

* * *

In a house far away from Little Whinging, near the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, a family quite unlike the Dursleys sat down to eat. The table was quite large, loud, and chaotic - for the Weasley family had nine mouths to feed.

At the moment, the family was celebrating. The owls from Hogwarts had arrived, delivering three shiny new badges: Charlie, the second oldest, had become Prefect and Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor, and his elder brother Bill was now Head boy.

Molly sobbed with sentimental pride, pulling Bill into a hug which nearly knocked his plate out of his hands. "I'm so proud... My sons, Head Boy, and Quidditch Captain! This calls for something special. I'll pick something up for each of you when I go into Diagon Alley. What would you like, Bill, an owl? A new set of dress robes?"

"Can I have a pair of new boots? My old ones are getting shabby again already, so I thought about getting something more durable... Dragonhide, maybe?"

Molly pursed her lips, estimating the cost. "I think we can afford a set of secondhand dragonhide boots. If you can get a job by the end of the summer you can have a pair of new ones. And you, Charlie, what would you like? A new broom, perhaps?"

"Nah, my broom's fine. What I'd really like is an Ollivander wand. I know his wands cost at least five galleons, but it'd be a lot more useful to me - I have O.W.L.s this year, and no offense, but this wand isn't very useful in my hands. Ollivander's the best in the world for wands."

Molly frowned. "Alright, but you'd better do well on your O.W.L.s. We'll go visit Diagon Alley this weekend. Five galleons is a lot."

Percy piped up from the corner, "When I'm made prefect, can I get an owl? Ron can have Scabbers then, he'll be a first year."

"We'll see, dear. Anyone want seconds?"

A chorus of agreement arose from the people sitting around the table as Molly Weasley piled more food onto their plates.

* * *

From the corner of the room, in his cage, Scabbers the rat watched lazily. He knew Percy would give him some of the delicious meal when the family was done. Altogether, life as a rat wasn't unpleasant. He was cared for and had no responsibilities, he was in no danger... Eventually, Harry Potter would come to Hogwarts, and his master would surely be proud of him for laying such clever plans...

He'd followed his orders so perfectly. He'd sown distrust among his friends - and the entire Order - so that Lily was suspected as a spy for Severus, Remus' lycanthropy saw him excluded, and Sirius would be a scapegoat for the murder. The Death Eaters in the ministry had pulled strings to get Sirius incarcerated without a trial without Dumbledore noticing, and then they'd attempted to send Harry to a proper pureblood home. Unfortunately, he'd already been taken by then, but 'Scabbers' had made sure none of the Order would be able to raise him. Now his plans centered on slowly leading the 'light' side to darkness, while living off of them like a lazy parasite.

Yes, life certainly was good to be a rat.

* * *

Remus Lupin had become adjusted to his life. His attempts to live in the Wizarding World had been met with naught but futility and suffering, as several laws had been placed by the Ministry that effectively forced him to live elsewhere. He had moved barely a month after the war had ended, cutting off all contact with wizards. Anyone who attempted to contact him in a non-Muggle way would be met with very little success, and tracing his Wizarding identity would end up in a lack of present information. He'd been living in a quiet, small apartment a bit out of the way for years, and had gotten himself a job at a bookstore. It was a job he truly enjoyed - he'd always been the only one of the Marauders to find comfort in books and pleasure in reading.

He knew the war was over, but also that Voldemort would likely be returning someday. When that day came, he'd seek out Dumbledore again. Or maybe he wouldn't. He'd grown used to a quiet life, and he'd never been the best when it came to fighting. In his old age (he laughed bitterly to himself; thirty years old was hardly old age) he'd grown weary and physically weaker than he had been. He probably hadn't been eating properly either, and his scars from the last full moon stood out on his gaunt skin. He sighed.

If worst came to worst, he could flee the country. But what would James have said about that? _It doesn't matter what he'd think, now that he's dead._ Remus sighed.

If he could find a way to make himself useful and protect Harry, he would do so. Until he was needed, he would keep his head down. He'd become very good at that in the years since James and Lily had died.

* * *

Augusta Longbottom, wearing a thick woolen sweater, grabbed her grandson's hand to slow him down. "Careful, Neville. Slow down before you crash into someone." Neville obliged, altering his pace so that he walked in step beside her.

They were on the fourth floor of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, approaching the Janus Thickey Ward. Augusta stopped to talk with a mediwizard, who guarded the door in his uniform of pearl white and lime green. Neville's face grew a bit more solemn, and Augusta patted his shoulder.

Minutes later, they were admitted into the ward. Neville led the way eagerly to the bright room where his parents were to live out the rest of their lives, greeting them with a hug. Augusta stood back, blinking away tears. Though they might not recognize him as their son, they treated him with warmth and love that was only impeded by their lack of speech and their slow, jerky movements.

Alice and Frank Longbottom had been tortured into insanity trying to protect their son. Neville had been one of two possible targets of a prophecy, the details of which Augusta had never been told. Though they had been placed under the Fidelius charm, Lily had been their Secret-Keeper. Everyone had thought Lily's house was under the greatest possible protection.

If Augusta had known how soon the Dark Lord would've fallen, she wouldn't have protested being Secret Keeper and staying somewhere safe. She had initially worried that old age would claim her too soon, but she'd ended up fine. The Death Eaters must have been waiting for the wards to fall, and-

Augusta wiped away a tear with a raggedy handkerchief. Visiting Frank and Alice always made her sentimental. She turned back to what Neville was saying.

"...and Uncle Algie visited again, he was still trying to get me to prove that I'm a wizard. Aunt Enid's fed up with it, she always keeps a close eye on him. He bought me a toad last week when I managed to light one of the candles when he extinguished all the lights in the middle of a thunderstorm, but Gran thinks Enid lit it. Enid didn't have her wand, though."

Frank looked fondly at his son, though he didn't show any signs of comprehending his words. Alice played with something Neville had handed her, probably a puzzle of some sort.

"Oh, and I'm almost old enough to go to Hogwarts, just one more year of waiting. I might be in Gryffindor like you, Dad, but I might also be in Hufflepuff like Mum. When I go to Hogwarts, if I'm not a Squib, I'll do my best to be a great student like you. And I already have a pet to keep me company, but I heard almost everybody makes friends on the train. I named him Trevor. The toad, I mean. He's real nice, but he always gets lost. He should be... Um. Gran? ...I can't find Trevor."

Augusta sighed, "I'll go see if one of the mediwizards has found him."


	3. Chapter I - Number Four, Privet Drive

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

_Chapter I: Number Four, Privet Drive_

* * *

You know that moment, just before the sunrise? When the clouds are lit up by the warm hints of a new dawn, lingering just out of reach? That moment is truly beautiful. Though it seems a timeless eternity to anyone who happens to capture a glimpse of it, in reality it is but a single fleeting instant - an extraordinarily magical instant of immaculate silence. This particular morning was a typical summer morning, with light, distant clouds floating away far above Harry's window. The birds had not yet begun their serenade of the sunrise; or perhaps they had, but there were none who happened to be singing on Privet Drive. The air from outside was refreshingly warm, in a way that made Harry wish to go back to sleep. He was too wide awake for such a feat, however, and so he sat, staring out the window, waiting for someone else to wake up. Like any other silence, this must be broken. And so it was that the silence of the morning was broken by the soft pattering of footsteps outside the door.

Harry opened the door and crept out to see Aunt Petunia making herself a cup of coffee. This was odd: Aunt Petunia hated getting out of bed before noon. He opened his mouth to ask what she was doing up so early, and she shushed him quietly. "It's Dudley's birthday, and I want to make it special. Since you're up, you can help. Quietly bring the presents down from where they're hidden in the guest bedroom." Harry nodded, getting to work. Aunt Petunia went into the kitchen and started getting ready to cook an especially large breakfast. Harry personally thought Dudley didn't need it, as he was already starting to grow slightly larger than the average 11-year old.

Harry returned downstairs with an armful of presents and stacked them neatly on the table in the lounge. In the kitchen, Aunt Petunia was staring at the cooking instructions for a box of biscuits in confusion - she'd never been the best at cooking, leaving it to Uncle Vernon in all but the most dire of cases. "I can help, if you want," Harrry offered. Petunia looked at him, then nodded warily.

Two hours later, when the big feast-like breakfast was done and the table was marvelously set, the guests arrived. First was Piers Polkiss, an incredibly obnoxious, unpleasant boy who liked taking things from others and hiding them. He was Dudley's best friend, though, so he was invited to celebrate. Next came Acair Vance with Mrs. Figg. Most of the time, Dudley and his friends would go on an outing with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, leaving Harry in the care of Mrs. Figg if he chose not to accompany them. Acair would always choose to stay at Mrs. Figg's with him.

In the meanwhile, Dudley yawned and stretched, finally waking up. His other two friends had arrived by the time the birthday boy found his way downstairs to see the presents he'd been hoping for. However, he was distracted from counting his twelve presents by the scent of bacon in the next room. Walking into the kitchen, he saw his guests and immediately entered a conversation too rapid for Harry to follow. They didn't stop talking when their plates were handed to them. Instead they went around in a circle and took turns talking instead of eating. Harry was the only one not eating, as he'd had his fill before any guests had even arrived. Seeing him standing in the corner, Mrs. Figg walked over to him.

"Hello, Harry. How have you been lately? Your aunt was just telling me what a big help you've been with the breakfast."

Harry nodded. "Aunt Petunia's hopeless at cooking." Mrs. Figg chuckled, then brushed a wisp of gray hair away from her face.

"Do your aunt and uncle have any plans for today?"

"Yes, they're going to the zoo. Could you take Acair and me to the zoo while they're gone?"

Mrs. Figg frowned. "Harry, your aunt and uncle are supposed to take care of you. If you want to go to the zoo with them, just ask. If they won't let you, I'll tell Dumbledore and we'll get the matter settled."

"No, no, it's just... It's Dudley's birthday, and Dudley would rather spend the day with his parents and his friends. If I was there, I'd just sort of be an outsider, instead of enjoying his birthday."

Mrs. Figg smiled sadly as she answered, "Well... My eyesight's too poor for me to drive hardly anywhere these days. In a few years, you'll be driving me to the zoo on my birthday. If you don't want to go with your aunt and uncle, and they don't mind you staying at my house for the day, we can find something else to do."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He got along fine with Dudley, but his friends were an unpleasant lot. He'd be much happier relaxing with a cat and watching television or reading. He crept over to where Uncle Vernon stood watching over Dudley and his friends.

"Uncle Vernon, would it be alright if I stay with Mrs. Figg for the day?"

He grunted, "Just remember to be back for the party this evening. Should I fix you a lunch?"

Harry shuddered, thinking of Mrs. Figg's stale cabbage muffins. "Yes please."

Uncle Vernon grunted again, heading into the kitchen and pulling a log of salami out of the fridge. Harry watched curiously as he sliced a few thin slices and laid them aside, pulling a bun from another shelf and deftly sawing it in two. Harry hoped to one day be as good at cooking as Uncle Vernon. He'd decided when he grew up he'd be a chef. A chef that specialized in salami sandwiches and served them to wizards.

Uncle Vernon finished making the last of the sandwiches and put them in a basket. Aunt Petunia had distracted Dudley from the presents with stories of her times at the zoo; noticing that they were ready to go, Uncle Vernon went over to help load up the car. Before he left, he told Harry, "Thank you for your assistance with breakfast. The way you seasoned the eggs was genius." Harry grinned and gave his uncle a hug. Uncle Vernon stood there awkwardly. He never seemed to know how to respond to hugs, even those from Aunt Petunia.

Uncle Vernon climbed in his car and drove off as Harry, Acair, and Mrs. Figg began their trek to Wisteria Walk.

* * *

Harry was settled on the couch with Mr. Tibbles in his lap. He was surprised to see the new addition to her living room: Mrs. Figg apparently had finally given in to Acair's pleas and purchased a newer television. Naturally, she bought the largest she could find, as it was "easiest on these aging eyes." Harry suspected a large portion of the money had come from Mrs. Vance and her family. Mrs. Figg seemed like the kind of person who didn't make much for a living. This raised the speculation - how did she make a living?

"I used to raise kneazles," she replied. "Very tricky, that. You need a ministry license to own one. I'd cross-breed 'em with cats and sell the part-kneazles to wizards they liked. Not the other way around, mind you. Kneazles are famous for their intelligence, and can be pretty picky about who they let own them. Anyway, that was the past. I'm retired now, and as an associate of Dumbledore I get retirement money to live on."

Harry was interested in learning more about these kneazles, and his interest in watching the television faded to nothing. For the next two hours he, Acair, and Mrs. Figg looked through old picture books displaying dozens of cats and kneazles, each of which Mrs. Figg remembered fondly. Their activity was interrupted by the rumbling of Harry's stomach, prompting him to pull out the sandwiches. "Are you hungry, Mrs. Figg? There's one for you too. And Acair."

Mrs. Figg smiled at Harry's generosity and kindness, and the three stopped for lunch.

* * *

Evening approached, and Mrs. Figg brought Harry back to the Dursleys' house for cake and presents. Harry had gotten for Dudley a new hat, which he had been given by a teacher at the end of school. Dudley also received a bicycle, which Harry knew Dudley would never use, three new computer games, and a box of candy. After his friends left, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon sat down with him on the couch to spend birthday time watching a movie. Harry sighed and retreated to his room. Feeling acute loneliness, he drifted off to sleep early.


End file.
